Enlisting the Invisible Man
by DiabloCat
Summary: How did 'M' get Rodney Skinner to join? This is my tale about how Skinner was enlisted into the LXG.
1. Trap

Rodney Skinner surveyed the building critically. This one was going to be difficult. It wasn't going to be a simple matter of finding a window that someone carelessly left open. No, this was going to be a real break and enter. With emphasis on the break part. He rolled his shoulders and gave a small sigh. Time to get a-moving.

Anyone foolish enough to out at this time of night would have been greeted with the sight of a battered backpack floating through the air, seemingly unsupported. The backpack drifted over to the gate of the flashy house and paused for a moment. It then lowered itself to the ground and opened.

The invisible man reached inside the backpack and drew out a lock pick. A very handy device he'd pick-pocketed off a fellow thief who'd let down his guard for a mere second. A few moments of fiddling, and he heard the satisfying sound of a lock clicking open. Skinner allowed himself a grin. Phase one, complete.

The thief padded up to the front door, keeping an eye open for the sound of dogs. Blasted critters didn't need to see him. They could sniff him out just fine. Something he'd found out on a rather disastrous robbery. He'd only just made it out.

Luckily this place didn't seem to have any, or they were all taking a nap. Skinner bit his lip thoughtfully as he eyed the house. How should he get in? Through the door? Through the window? He decided to go for the window. The door was probably locked more securely than the gate. Possibly even had an alarm.

Skinner prowled the outside of the wall, looking for a suitable window to break into. About eight metres away from the door, he found the perfect target. It seemed to lead into a dining area, or something of the sort. Skinner delved into his trusty bag again, this time pulling out a crowbar.

He gently pushed the bar into position, then gave it a sharp jerk. The window sprung open with a CRACK! Skinner froze for a moment, holding his breath. There was no sound, no sudden movement. No one had awoken. Skinner let out the breath he'd been holding.

He swung the bag in first, and then climbed in after it. It was dark, almost pitch-back. Perfect conditions for his work, provided he didn't knock anything over, or walk into something.

Skinner took two steps forwards – then froze as light flooded the room. He stared around in shock, only to see he was surrounded by tough-looking men. Someone had been expecting him.

The someone strolled forwards, a smug smile on their face. He seemed to be some snooty fellow, dressed in fine clothes, a trim little moustache that only accented the man's smirk.

"Ah, Mr Rodney Skinner, I presume?"

How the hell did this guy know his name? Sure, Skinner had a reputation, but it wasn't attached to a name. He was just the unseen thief to most. Yet this arrogant man knew his name – first and last.

He decided to stay quiet. If he could just dump the bag, then they wouldn't be able to see him at all, and he'd be able to make a break for it. He began edging it to the ground, very slowly.

"Nothing to say, Mr Skinner? What a pity. But I do have something to say."

Keep calm, just keep lowering the bag, not too fast or he'll notice...

"You know better than anyone about your unique – ability."

Ability my foot. Don't get distracted, get ready to drop the bag and run like mad...

"Britain is in trouble."

Whoopee do, tell someone who cares. On the count of three...

"We need people like you."

One...

"People with abilities like yours."

Two...

"Thus I have a proposition to make."

Three!


	2. Escape

Skinner dropped the bag and lunged sideways. The men encircling him closed in. They couldn't be sure where he was exactly, but they had a rough idea. The invisible man knew he had to move fast, or they'd have him trapped. He spotted a small gap between two men, and dived through. The men felt him brush against them and whirled, shouting.

Skinner was already on his feet, weaving his way towards the open window. A man suddenly loomed up in front of him, blocking his path. The burly thug started swiping the air in front of him, probably hoping to strike the thief. Skinner shrank back, and decided to escape another way.

He darted for the doorway out of the dining room, but skidded to a halt when he saw three men standing there. They had the whole place covered!

He looked frantically around, panic rising in him. The only advantage he had was that they couldn't see him. He was unarmed, outnumbered and naked, dammit!

The window was his only way out. There was one man standing in front of it. Skinner swallowed, and made up his mind. He braced himself, and charged forwards at the thug.

Kevin Ryan was an elite soldier, as were the rest of his team. They were trained to be quick, strong and deadly, if need be. But for all of his training, he was unprepared for what happened next.

With a yell of triumph and terror, Skinner knocked the man clean out through the window. The thief tumbled out after the startled soldier. He swiftly rolled to his feet and tried to run, only to be tripped by Ryan, who had accidentally grabbed his ankle.

Skinner desperately pulled on his leg, trying to break free. The other soldiers had seen their team-mate fall out the window, and had worked out what was going on. They were already starting to climb through the window. Skinner gave one last, frenzied kick, and managed to smack Ryan in the face. Those watching saw his head suddenly jerk back, and blood spurt from his nose.

Skinner yanked his leg free and ran down through the gate, and off into the dark streets on London, heading for home.

Back in the house, the man who had come for Skinner glowered out into the darkness. They had come so close! But it seemed the thief was going to be more trouble than they bargained for. He sighed irritably. Oh well, nothing for it. They'd just have to track him down again.

"Bring me the bag," he ordered one of the soldiers, who obeyed immediately.

He riffled through it, searching for something that would give them a clue of where Skinner might live. He didn't hold too much hope though. What thief would leave clues lying around?

His probing fingers found a slip of paper, just a grubby scrap with the address of a tavern on it. The man smiled. Bingo.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Skinner hammered on the door of a run-down apartment. He paused for a moment, gasping for breath after his long run, and then resumed bashing the door.

"Pete! It's Skinner! For God's sake, let me in! PETE!"

The door swung open a crack, and two eyes peered suspiciously out. The voice that spoke was just as suspicious.

"How do I know it's you, and not some other thief?"

"Do you see anything?"

"No."

"Then it's me, you idiot! How many other invisible men do you know?"

"Alright, alright," grumbled Pete. "Don't get so touchy. You have to be on your guard around here."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, just let me in!"

Pete opened the door wider and stepped back to let the exhausted thief stumble in. "So, how'd it go?"

"What do you think? Does it look like it went well?"

"I wouldn't know. I can't see you, can I?" Pete said with a grin.

"Oh, ha ha." A depression appeared in a shabby seat nearby. Pete assumed his friend was inside and closed the door. "It was a disaster. The whole thing was a bloody trap."

"A trap?" said Pete, surprised. "What do you mean?"

"I mean they knew I was coming. Surrounded me. Some smarmy guy walked up and yabbered on about abilities and other people like me."

"Other invisible men?"

"Dunno. Wasn't really listening. Didn't let him finish either." Skinner yawned. "Made a break for it. Don't worry; I don't think they followed me here. God, I could use a drink."

"Scotch's in the cupboard. Two glasses only, we're running low."

"I'll get some more later." Both men knew very well that when Skinner said 'get', he really meant steal.

"Sure you're up to it?"

"Yeah. Just a bit buggered right now. Be right as rain tomorrow."

The depression disappeared from the chair, and Pete heard the sound of Skinner lurching over to the cupboard. The door swung open, and a bottle and two glasses lifted themselves up and out. Skinner poured one for Pete and one for himself. Pete accepted the glass with a nod, and took a gulp.

The glass in the air tilted, and a stream of brownish liquid flowed down into nothingness. Pete grimaced. "Do you mind Skinner?"

"Oh, sorry mate." The glass set itself down, and Pete heard the sound of footsteps leaving the room. A few minutes later, a black coat strolled back in. Skinner had applied his greasepaint, so Pete could see the grin the thief threw him.

"Better?"

"Much," Pete said fervently. "At least it's not as bad as when you eat. Seeing food getting crushed in mid-air – yuck!"

"Wimp," commented Skinner. He plonked himself back onto the chair, and took another gulp from his glass. "Anything happen while I was off?"

"Nah, been fairly quiet." The pair were silent for a while. They understood each other fairly well, having lived together for a couple of years. They'd met when police where scouring the nearby streets, looking for thieves. Skinner and Pete had huddled in the same place, hiding from the cops.

After the police had moved on, they'd chatted for a bit. Pete was a thief too, but a rather unsuccessful one. He hated stealing, and only did it because he was completely broke. Skinner however, was a skilful thief and spent most of his time on the streets.

Pete had a house, but no money. Skinner could get money whenever he needed to, but had no house. So they joined forces.

They were firm friends now. Skinner had helped Pete out when he'd run into trouble with some thugs. Pete had supported Skinner when he'd first become invisible, and realised it was permanent.

"Well, I'm off to bed," said Skinner, yawning. "I'll get the Scotch tomorrow. Anything else?"

"Some bread would be good. And some milk."

"Ha. Easy. See ya in the morning."

"Can't say the same here, but good night anyway."

The grinned at one another. It was an old ritual they'd been following ever since Skinner became invisible.

As the thief collapsed onto his hard bed, he briefly wondered about the encounter in the house. How had the guy known his name, and what he was? Skinner fell asleep with the question still turning over in his mind.


	3. Ambush

"Morning Jack," Skinner carolled as he strode into the bar. Jack merely grunted, and scowled at the white-faced form.

"Whadaya want, Skinner?" he said, practically spitting out the words.

Skinner raised his eyebrows. "Why Jack, that's no way to treat a customer!" he said in a hurt voice.

"Pah," snarled the burly bartender. "Customers pay. You don't. Now get out."

"Ah," said Skinner. "But I have money." He reached into a pocket of the coat and pulled out three coins and waved them at Jack, who just glared.

"Yeah, you have money, but how much of it are you gonna give me, eh? Nothing! I know your tricks, Skinner. Either I get nothing at all, or something more valuable goes missing. Get out!"

Skinner leaned on the counter and tried to look innocent. "How do you know I haven't changed, mate? I could be all respectable now." Inwardly, he cackled at the thought.

Jack leant over, pushing his face right up against Skinner's. "For the last time, you stinking turncoat, get out of my bar!"

Skinner backed away, hands raised. "Okay, okay, you only had to ask. I'm going." He turned and walked out of the bar, waving cheekily at Jack as he went.

Once outside he chuckled, and checked the inside pocket of his coat. Yep, the Scotch was still there, nicked from Jack's counter as he leant on it. Stupid blighter never learned. Now, what else did Pete want? Ah, that's right, milk and bread.

He strolled down the street, whistling a little tune as he went. No one would have guessed he was invisible. They would have thought he was strange, but not invisible. He and Pete had perfected his day-wear, so that he almost looked like a regular Londoner. The coat, buttoned up, covered his body, and the coat's collar was turned up to hide his neck and par of his head. The white greasepaint plastered his face, and black glasses hid the absence of his eyes. A hat covered the top of his head. A pair of tall boots hid his legs up to his knees, where the coat took over. Gloves hid his hands. Perfect.

But there were several people who did know he was invisible, no matter how well he hid. They had orders to catch him. And they planned to obey those orders to the letter.

Skinner ducked into an alleyway to prepare himself for his next theft. He slipped the hat, gloves and glasses off, stepped out of his boots and wiped off the greasepaint. He was about to unbutton the coat, when someone tackled him

Skinner hit the ground hard, the air in his lungs crushed out. He rolled onto his knees, completely winded. The person who had tackled him lunged again. Skinner threw himself out of the way, scrabbling backwards. He heard glass crunch behind him, and rolled to the side, just in time to avoid the second man.

What was going on? He clambered to his feet, eyeing the two men in front of him warily. The stared back. It would have made an odd sight. Two toughs facing off against a floating coat.

Skinner knew he couldn't get out of the coat and go invisible in time. It was buttoned up too well. Damn buttons. He'd have to fight this one out.

He charged forwards, ramming the very same man who'd tackled him. Skinner took the guy by surprise, and slammed him to the ground. He tried to run, but the second bloke grabbed his arm. He threw himself into the man, sending them both hurtling to the floor.

Skinner climbed to his feet yet again. This was getting annoying. The two thugs were still getting to their feet. Because Skinner was lighter and leaner, he'd been able to extricate himself from the tangle quicker. He backed away, planning to make a break for it.

Skinner never saw the third man. All he felt was something crash into the back of his head, sending him instantly into darkness.


	4. Welcome to the League

Skinner gingerly opened one eye and suppressed a moan as pain throbbed through his skull. He lifted an arm and felt the back of his head, wincing as his fingers brushed the enormous lump there.

He slowly sat up, the room swimming before his eyes. He recognised it instantly, having been there before.

He was in a holding cell. The place where they put you before they decide to lock you away. Skinner had once spent two months in prison, and wasn't keen to repeat the experience.

Footsteps suddenly echoed out. Skinner snapped his head sideways, then immediately wished he hadn't. He clutched his head with a groan. A single thought flooded his mind. He lowered the hand and looked at it in horror. He was invisible! Well, duh, but he wasn't covered! All he was wearing was his coat.

"Ah, Mr Skinner, I'm glad to see you're awake."

Skinner's eyes widened. He knew that voice! "You!"

The man from the house smiled at him. "I see you remember our little encounter."

Skinner marched over to the bars. "Let me out!"

The man shook his head. "Tsk tsk, such impatience. You didn't let me finish my talk last time. Will you do me the courtesy now?"

The thief folded his arms and glared at the man, although he couldn't see it. "What do you want?"

"You, Mr Skinner. I want you. You see," he went on, sitting down on a chair nearby. "You are not the only one with extraordinary abilities. There are many others."

"Well go get one of them."

The man chuckled. "That is the plan. Do you care what happens to England?" he said suddenly.

"Depends, don't it," said Skinner slowly. Where was this heading?

"England is heading into a war. A war like nothing ever seen before. A war against the rest of the world."

"So?"

"So we need to stop it, Mr Skinner. And to do that, we need to catch the culprit behind it all."

"Who's he?" Despite everything, the man had caught Skinner's interest.

"A deranged maniac who calls himself the Fantom. To combat him, we need a special force. A force made up of people like you."

"No," said Skinner firmly. He wasn't going out and risking his life for a bunch of arrogant paper-pushers.

"You haven't heard all I have to say."

"I've heard enough."

"There's a bonus in it for you."

Skinner opened his mouth to say he wasn't interested, then suddenly paused. "What's in it for me?"

"You find being invisible tiresome, don't you?"

"It's not a barrel of laughs, but what do you expect?"

"We can reverse the process."

"What? That's impossible! It's permanent."

"We have brilliant scientists, Mr Skinner. Work for us, and we'll find you an antidote."

"And if I don't work for you?"

"Then we will let the law deal with as they see fit. I believe you are a thief?"

Skinner winced. Since his last arrest, he'd clocked up enough thefts to put him in jail for several years.

"If you join, we'll grant you amnesty, and also provide the antidote. On one other condition."

"Which is?"

"You behave. It is as simple as that. Work for us, keep your hands to yourself, and you'll walk out a free, visible man."

Skinner thought for a moment. The decision wasn't actually that difficult. To be visible again, to be able to walk around without having to apply the blasted greasepaint – bliss.

"Alright, I'll do it."

The man beamed. "Excellent. Welcome to the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, Mr Skinner."

THE END

DiabloCat: Hoped you enjoyed. Pete was my own creation; I have no idea where Skinner lived before he joined the LXG. Many thanks if you got this far.


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